


The Golden Veil

by Maplesyrup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anonymous prompt, Arranged Marriage, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Golden Dress, Misthaven, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle AU - Freeform, The Golden Veil, Tumblr Prompt, duchess - Freeform, duke - Freeform, enchanted forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: Prompted by Anonymous on Tumblr: "How odd that we were promised to each other for so long and only met on our wedding day.”Lady Belle has been betrothed since childhood to a noble of the realm and long-standing tradition prevents her from knowing who he is before they marry. As her wedding day dawns, generous gifts from her Intended spark a bright hope for her future despite the mystery waiting for her at the end of the aisle.





	The Golden Veil

**Author's Note:**

> I love an arranged marriage AU. Hot damn.

Belle smoothed a hand down the stomacher of her elegant golden gown, a gift from her betrothed. It had come with a note—one of the few she’d ever received in their long engagement—politely requesting that she wear it for their wedding. She had been surprised a groom would take such an interest in his bride’s attire, especially a bride whose face he had never seen.

She supposed it was fair; she was wholly unaware of who he was in turn. The ancient tradition of noble betrotheds remaining unknown to one another until their wedding day was followed to the letter in her realm. The priests claimed it was to honor the blind cleaving of the Gods to one another in the dark void that had subsequently birthed existence eons ago, but Belle secretly thought it was to prevent any embarrassment arising from a noble bride or groom running in shrieking misery from their own wedding.

The Common Folk were allowed to choose  _ their  _ mates, forming matches founded on love and respect and companionship. The Nobility considered it the height of vulgarity to marry for something as mercurial as  _ feelings _ and so their own traditions were jealously guarded. 

Belle was envious; childhood friends she had played with from the village were happily growing their families with their true loves now that they had attained their majority. She wanted the same for herself. Wanted cheerful summer afternoons spent by in the lake with her family, her husband stealing warm kisses from her as he ran by, playing with their children. She wanted crisp winter mornings, intimate whispers underneath frosted trees, laughter and snow fights. Relaxed autumn evenings celebrating the harvest, tucked warmly by her love’s side, a cup of wine in her hands and festival music in her ears.

It wasn’t to be.

She would marry the nobleman assigned to her and start a life of continued staid tradition: bearing heirs, hosting the royal family when they came to call, running a massive household. Her life was transforming into the three pillars of noble-womanhood and despite how she wished to fight it, she forced herself to accept it with grace. She would not be an embarrassment to her family or herself.

She hoped there was at least a large library in her soon-to-be husband’s estate.

There had been another request in the short missive carried along with her gown: that she send her own requirements for his attire on their wedding day. She had been momentarily stunned before a little flutter of hope stirred in her belly. It was highly unusual for noble males to take their wives’ opinion on anything in their life together, let alone let her dictate something as intimate as his clothing. Perhaps this would bode well for their marriage. Likely not but hope springs eternal, as she often heard.

She sighed, chiding herself for her cynicism. The betrothal had been arranged when she was a child, the man she was to marry as much a pawn as she on the chessboard of their families. Well, perhaps it was more accurate to say  _ she _ was the pawn on the board. She knew enough about him to surmise that with his wealth, age, and connection to the royal family, he better occupied the spot of the king piece. And yet, she knew that if a pawn trod carefully, moved with patience and intelligence, it could claim the king piece as its own.

The same flutter of hope swooped upwards into her chest and she bit her lip on a wistful smile.

Tugging an errant wrinkle out of the fabric of her skirts, Belle gave herself a once-over in the tall looking glass of her bedroom. She would do. A church bell pealed outside her window, the signal that her wedding was soon to start and she wasn’t surprised to hear her bedroom door open and her maid shuffle in. 

Belle smiled to the older woman, but her smile faded into a curious frown as she saw the gossamer golden sheets of fabric piled over the maid’s arms.

“What is that?”

“Another request from your betrothed. He asks that you wear this down the aisle.”

Belle peered at the fabric. A veil, obviously, but the layers of fabric looked nearly opaque.

“But how am I to see with this on?” She shook her head. “I’m certain to trip and fall.”

It had always been that a bride would walk unaccompanied down the aisle, the priests giving reason that a woman should enter her new life unencumbered by the old, as we all walk each new path of our lives alone in the end, as the Gods treaded the heavens above. Veils worn across the face were common but normally the bride was allowed to  _ see _ the symbolic path she took towards her new life.

Her maid smiled.

“Your betrothed has a different idea in mind, Lady. He’ll collect you at the church entrance and walk together with you to the altar.”

Belle gaped before shutting her mouth with an audible snap. So be it. Love, honor, and obey, was it not?

_ Well… _

Belle turned and allowed the maid to fasten the veil to her elaborately curled and pinned up mass of dark hair. She watched in the looking glass, the lovely fabric of the veil complimenting her pale skin and blue eyes. She expected the layers to be heavy but the weight was feather-light and felt just as soft where it brushed her cheeks and nose. She wasn’t entirely blind as she had feared. Instead, the world had turned hazy with gold, making everything around her look gilded and precious. She smiled under the veil, surprised delight suffusing her.

“Are you ready, my lady?”

Delight faded in a fresh onslaught of nerves but she nodded.

“Yes.”

Belle had expected the church’s large, echoing organ to announce her as the doors opened and the throng of people stood, but a beautiful, hopeful melody met her ears instead. She immediately recognized the sound of violins and her eyes widened in surprise. The musicians were highly skilled, each note moving around the stone edifice and landing sweetly on her ears, doing wonders to calm her overwrought nerves.

It was the most wonderful piece she had ever heard. Emotions filled her, that same, building hope chief among them once more. She looked through the veil at the assembly, the same gauzy gold hue tinting everything and it was then she saw the figure of her betrothed as he walked towards her.

The church was silent save for the music, and she was able to hear his slow, steady footfalls as he drew near. Through the gold, she could see he wore the attire she had politely suggested in her return missive; a deep blue formal court suit, with a white silk shirt and hose that met his shining black formal shoes. She looked up through the veil but couldn’t make out his features. All she could see was what appeared to be shoulder-length hair and then his arm as he held it out for her to take.

She curled her hand into the crook of his elbow and a surprising jolt of sensation went through her as he covered her hand with his larger one, giving hers a gently reassuring squeeze before taking a step forward down the carpeted expanse towards the marriage dais. 

She could feel eyes on her and was suddenly thankful for the veil as it allowed her a modicum of privacy in such a public event. She swallowed, a spark of bravery daring her to speak her last words as an unmarried woman before she was bound to this man for eternity.

“H-how,” she stuttered, gulping and trying again as her face heated, “how odd that we were promised to each other for so long, only to meet on our wedding day.”

A low, warm chuckle met her ears, the vibrations of it going from his chest to her hand where it was tucked securely by his side. The rasp of amusement was delicious and she nearly shivered.

“We haven’t met  _ quite _ yet,” he muttered with a teasing lilt to his voice. His accent marked him from the northernmost part of the realm, a land of frozen and harsh beauty, with wild and howling winters perfect for cozying up to the fire with a great pot of tea and a thick novel. Or so she had read.

Belle giggled softly then heard the sharp hiss of his indrawn breath.

“You have a beautiful laugh, my lady.”

She meant to thank him but they suddenly arrived at the dais and hands were lifting her veil, slowly peeling back the layers to reveal both her face and his. She ran her gaze from his shoes up to his face, her eyes growing wide as she finally beheld the man she would tie herself to for life.

She knew him, after all.

Well, _ of _ him, really. Who in their realm did  _ not _ know of the great Duke of the Northern Isles of Misthaven, Rumplestiltskin? Rumored to be cold as the winters of his land and more shrewd and calculating than the God of the Underworld, he was a man twenty years her senior and by all accounts, a man not to be trifled with. The fragile hope that had bloomed so tenderly withered in her chest. She was a creature of the bright seasons, the sun her most desired companion, and was to be wed to a man with Winter in his veins. 

The kindness he’d shown her clashed violently with the rumors she knew.

And with the way he was looking at her.

She stared back, a strange tingle of frightened awareness creeping up her spine. How could a man supposedly  _ that  _ cold stare at her with such a shocked, burning longing plain on his face. As if she were a sudden ray of warm light sent to thaw an eon of frost. His eyes flicked back and forth between her face and the decent expanse of bosom the elegant dress bared. She took a quick breath and saw his eyes lock onto the gentle swell of her breast, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. She felt herself blush under his gaze and ducked her head. The priest cleared his throat and they both jumped, drawing a few gentle laughs from the congregation.

“Perhaps a love match after all, then?” The priest joked kindly, drawing yet more laughs from the people around them. He smiled warmly at Belle. She offered an automatic, if tremulous smile in return and followed his spoken instructions, repeating the words he dictated to her and listening to His Grace repeat the same next to her. Something was missing from the vows as they were spoken, some crucial part Belle should have paid attention to, but her mind couldn’t catch it before the ceremony ended and she had become the property of a stranger.

They turned as one to shouts of congratulations and applause from the crowd and he tucked her hand back into his elbow as he led her out of the church.

The wedding carriage took them both the short drive from the church to the royal palace, where they would spend the first week of their marriage in special rooms set aside for such occasions. His Grace helped Belle out of the carriage, and she thanked him shyly, using his honorific. She was surprised to see a warm smile cross his face and to hear that throaty chuckle emerge once more.

“No need for such ceremony, unless you’d like me to refer to you as the same?”

Belle blinked, realizing for the first time that she’d become a Duchess in the span of mere minutes. A  _ Duchess _ . She was now  _ Her _ Grace.

_ Dear Gods...  _

Her vision swam and large hands cradled her arms gently, supporting her through an odd wave of nausea that made her close her eyes on a pained moan.

“Belle, are you alright?”

Her name on his lips in that warm, worried tone made her knees go weak and before she knew it, she was being scooped up by strong arms, skirts and all, and carried through the grand foyer of the guest entrance.

“N-no, Your Grace. Please. I-I can walk.”

He shushed her, slanting her a look of concern.

“Nonsense. You nearly fainted. I would guess you haven’t eaten a thing today, have you? Nerves?”

She shook her head, and then nodded, feeling silly.

“Neither did I.” He shrugged at her questioning look. “Nerves.”

She pulled back, regarding him with surprise.

“Y-you were nervous? Whatever for?”

He reached the hallway that led to their rooms, catching the eye of a passing footman.

“You there, have a maid send a tray of food to our quarters. The Duchess is feeling poorly.”

The footman bowed, politely asking what Her Grace would prefer. Belle realized with a start that he was addressing  _ her _ and she shook her head.

“Anything,” she said meekly, annoyed at herself for it.

His Grace nodded at the footman. 

“Fruit, some cheese, bread, cold meats and wine. White, not red. And water.”

The footman bowed once more and hurried off. Rumplestiltskin continued on and she managed to get her fill of looking at him as he walked, seemingly unperturbed by the weight of her and her heavy skirts.

He was older, she knew that, but his face was lovely in a peculiar way. A long nose above thin lips, tea-brown eyes with faint creases at the corners, and soft-looking brown hair threaded with silver. He was clean shaven but light stubble was starting to grow back and she stared curiously at it, her fingers suddenly itching to touch it. She rarely saw men without some form of facial hair.

“I hate the way it feels,” he said, catching her staring at him. “A beard, I mean.” She blushed and ducked her head. He chuckled again.   
“You don’t have to hide, Belle. You’re lovely when you blush.”

That only made her blush deepen, the heat in her cheeks embarrassing in its fervor. Good lord, she wasn’t normally so missish! How had  _ one Duke _ reduced her to a stammering, silly mess? She’d met Dukes before. And Earls, Barons, Viscounts. What was so special about this one nobleman?

Belle wasn’t set back down until they were fully ensconced in their temporary rooms. He lowered her to the floor with gentleness, smoothing her hair back and removing the veil before turning her around. He started on the long row of buttons down her back and she gasped, clutching her hands to her chest protectively.

His hands stilled, coming to rest on her shoulders. 

“What’s the matter?”

Belle gulped, her eyes darting to the open door nearest them and the large bed she could clearly see inside that room. Her duty was before her and regardless of the fascinating man behind her, she was still fearful. It didn’t matter, though. She willed herself to relax, to let him undress her. She was bound to him, had promised to honor and obey— 

She whipped around, ignoring his confused frown.

“Obey,” she said.

His eyebrows shot upward, a sudden stammer coming to his lips.

“W-well, if you insist—” 

“Obey,” she repeated, interrupting him. “I-it wasn’t there. In my vows.” She thought back, pushing through the hazy memory of what she’d said to find the moment she’d sensed something was different. She looked up at him, her confused frown mirroring his own.

“Why wasn’t that in my vows?”  
The confusion cleared from his face and he sighed, laughing in what sounded like relief before bringing his clear gaze back to hers.

“I had it taken out.”

“But  _ why? _ ”

He threw her a sardonic look.

“Do you desire to be someone’s possession, Belle?”

She blinked, then shook her head furiously.

“Absolutely not, Your Grace.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I can see we’ll have to work on names.” He sighed. “Well, neither do I desire contractual fealty from my wife as if she were a common serf. So,” he flourished a hand, “I had it taken out. It wasn’t terribly difficult.”

She stared at him, narrowing her eyes, assessing him like a foreign language she was trying to translate.

“If you don’t desire that I obey you,” she said slowly, “then why did you start to-to undress me?”

It was his turn to duck his head, but not before she saw twin flags of color crest his cheeks. He waved an uncertain hand, looking bashful. The sudden uncertainty was as confusing as it was adorable.

“I-I thought you might be more comfortable out of that heavy dress. It weighs quite a bit and you must be tired of it by now.”

She bit her lip. “Carrying me  _ was _ a burden. I knew it, Your—ah, Rumplestiltskin,” she said apologetically. “You needn’t have troubled yourself.”

He raised his head. 

“No, you’re very light, despite the dress.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot like a child caught with an illicit treat. “I, er, I made it.”

Belle blinked.   
  
“You _made_ my dress?”

He nodded, dropping the hand from his neck to fidget at his side. He peered at her as if waiting for censure, his chin suddenly high and his expression guarded. She smiled, a lovely feeling sliding through her like summer honey fresh from the hive, warm and sweet. Perhaps the rumors about him were just that—rumors. She moved towards him slowly, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. The light scratch of his coming night-beard against her lips tickled and she salaciously wondered where else it might tickle, the thought sending a rush of heat through her body and making her gasp and fall back to her feet. 

She hid her gaze, not wanting him to see what she was thinking and an oddly charged silence built between them for several moments until he broke it.

“The veil as well,” he murmured. “I thought perhaps the gifts would…help you.”

“I didn’t know the Duke of the Northern Isles could sew,” she said, trying for a gentle tease. “He does beautiful work. I’m honored.”

He ducked his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Winters are long and can get boring there and my spinster aunts were clever women.” He shrugged. “I’m glad to have pleased you.”

That little smile of his stayed and something in her heart turned over, the sensation new and curious, and a little frightening. She chased it, let the momentum of it take her forward and towards him again. All the rumors fell away and she beheld him as a man, just a normal man, with a great responsibility on his shoulders. It would take time to figure out the root of the words said against him but they had time for that. He had shown her exquisite kindness; he could not be as bad as some said. 

She followed her instinct, his eyes wide as a cat’s, his pupils large and his throat working around a swallow as she lifted up to her toes once more. 

_ Do the brave thing, Belle… _

She lifted the scant distance upwards, pressing her mouth against his and sliding her hands up his chest to tangle in the folds of his white silk shirt at the opening of his coat. She had no experience kissing, operating purely on need in that moment. He let out a surprised moan, sliding his arms around her and pulling her closer, flush against his body. She whimpered in return and he changed the angle of their kiss, tilting his head and opening his mouth. His tongue came out to glide against her lips and she gasped at the sensation, her mouth opening and allowing him entry.  
  
The first touch of his tongue to hers ignited her blood and her hands gripped the silk of his shirt hard enough to risk tearing. He ravished her mouth, making her head swim pleasantly and sending bolts of sensation down her body. She was moaning uncontrollably, seeking something elusive her body had begun to beg for. A deep pang of disappointment followed the throbbing desire as he gentled their kiss, sliding his hands up to cup her face, running his thumbs across her burning cheeks.  
He pulled back, their lips sliding apart wetly, and she followed, seeking more of him. He chuckled and the _things_ that sound did to her on the inside had her moaning once more. He growled, pressing a brief, hard kiss to her lips before moving back and holding her a bit away from him. She pouted, worried she’d done something wrong, that she was awful at kissing and he wanted nothing to do with her, when she registered a knocking at their door.  
  
“Oh,” she said dumbly, and was rewarded with an affectionate kiss on the forehead.  
  
“You still need to eat, Belle.” Rumplestiltskin move to the door, surreptitiously adjusting his trousers on the way. He turned back to her before opening the door, his hand on the knob.  
  
“Food, then play, if you are still amenable after eating. Do we have a deal, my lady wife?”  
  
His wicked grin made her knees tremble and she nodded.  
  
“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
